


Third Time's the Charm

by shadowsandsouls



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: But like light angst big fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous use of fragmented sentences, I am incapable of writing anything longer than a thousand words at a time apparently, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Panic Attack, Post-Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsandsouls/pseuds/shadowsandsouls
Summary: Jack Zimmermann lives his life in threes. A very brief study in hockey superstition and the morning after coming out on national television.





	Third Time's the Charm

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! Just a heads up, there is a brief panic attack from the words "Then he sees it" to "Jack knows he is through the worst of it." It's based on my own experiences, so I felt the need to warn. Other than that, please enjoy! More notes at the end.

Three is the most powerful number. Jack knows this—he lives his life more than half-believing superstition. He was the captain of Samwell for three consecutive years, having only snatched the title for the first time by a meager three votes. He was three the first time he laced up a pair of skates by himself. He signed his name in triplicate when he became a Falconer. He kissed Bitty three times as soon as he realized he loved him. 

Hell, a hat trick is rooted in threes.

Sometimes three is bigger than it sounds. In his come back season, he is given the third A. With three seconds left in overtime, Jack scores the third goal of the night, and wins the Stanley Cup—his third time in any playoff. The stadium, the ice, and all of the players are awash in blue and white and yellow. Jack can see threes when he closes his eyes.

Sometimes three is more casual than it should be. Three geese take to following Jack around the quad for a week during his last semester at Samwell. He tries to be embarrassed when Shitty calls him the King of the Geese, but he’s fairly certain it comes off as smug. He has to tumble his clothes three times in the broken dryer. Jack busted it down the last three stairs in the haus the day Bitty debuted his South Carolina Gamecocks shorts with just the word “’COCKS” written on the seat. Well, looking back, that may have been one of the more memorable threes. 

Sometimes three is just too fucking much. Jack gets off three times the night of the Cup. He’s sore in every limb, but an equally sated man lies languid in his arms and he can’t bring himself to regret it. Jack’s smile is floating somewhere in the spectrum of easy bliss and maniacal glee. A small, freezing nose presses into the valley of his chest and Jack wraps his arm tighter around Bitty. God, he could die here.

But then he sees it. Three voicemails. Three unanswered texts from Tater. Three separate attempted FaceTimes from Marty, Thirdy, and Snowy respectively. One lone text from Suzanne Bittle sent at 3:33 AM: “Is he safe?”

The guilt of their escape hits him threefold. It’s a wave he had seen forming far away, safe on the shore. Only now it is here, and it’s wiped out the sandcastle he worked so hard to build. There is no air in his lungs; an icy blast of adrenaline flooding his body, but not going anywhere. What will she say? What will Suzanne say to him? To Jack? Is he safe? For the first time, Jack wonders if he is. Is Bitty safe in this plush hotel room, or Jack’s arms, or with a phone in his hand? Is he safe online or in person or on the ice or—Jack is trembling now, hard enough that he jostles Bitty. 

“Y’cold, baby?” Bitty mumbles, not completely awake yet. Not the way Jack is. 

Bitty wakes up pretty quickly after he realizes Jack is not answering. 

“Jack,” he says and sits up. Jack shivers at the severity of his own name. Warm hands press down on Jack’s chest, grounding and complete and there. The near-painful press of lungs finally expanding. 

“Keep pushing my hands up, Jack.” Eric does that when Jack is panicked. Calls him Jack. It focuses both of them, centers them. They are here with each other and no one else. 

Eric says it three more times. Jack. Jack. Jack. Says his name with every steady inhale. 

Jack feels Bitty’s weight shift, and suddenly there are soft weightless kisses on forehead. His cheeks. His nose. His eyelids. Jack reaches up to grasp Bitty’s wrists. It’s a smaller gesture than he wants to give, but it’s all he can manage. He can feel Bitty’s smile against the curve of his cheekbone.

“Honey.” Just a whisper of breath. Jack knows he is through the worst of it. 

“Hey, bud.” He lifts his other, shaking hand to smooth down Bitty’s back. Once, twice, three times. His skin is always so warm and his nose is always so cold. Jack breathes. Bitty rests his head on a propped up elbow. He looks down at Jack with a smile meant to ease the air—a wandering finger tracing Jack’s chest a hometown map. 

Silence like understanding stretches between them. Soft smiles and softer sighs and the softest kisses. Finally, finally, Jack opens his mouth. 

“Your mom texted me.” Bitty’s wandering finger stutters. “She wanted to, uh—to know you’re safe.” Bitty is quiet in a different way. Less like comfort and more like uncertainty. Jack burrows his head into the triangle of space between Bitty’s shoulder and elbow and chin. Chest to naked chest.

“What are you thinking,” Jack whispers against his skin. Bitty hums and he feels it all over.  
“I think—“ fingers at the base of his neck “—I think you should tell her that I’m fine.” Gentle scratching. “And that I just don’t have my phone. And I’ll call her soon.”

Jack takes this for what it is. A deferral. He knows Eric would rather revive Betsy, make her cook bagel bites, and kill her again. Jack doesn’t say anything else for a while. Just enjoys the give and take of their soft, unhurried touching. 

“I’ll call her soon. I just want to be…”

“Ready?” Jack finishes.

“Yeah. And what about you, honey? Are you ready?” 

Jack grumbles something unintelligible and turns to squash his face into Bits’ collarbone. 

“Ooh, no, sir.” Bitty digs his fingers into Jack’s side until he yelps and laughs, squirming to get away. “If I’ve gotta do something I don’t wanna do, you better suffer with me.” Bitty is laughing with him for just a second before the reality of it sets in. 

“Honey, I didn’t mean to make it seem like—like, I don’t know, a flu shot or something. Like we’re just gonna have to tough it out for a second and then be fine.” Bitty is brushing his thumb underneath Jack’s lip. It’s still rough with his playoff beard. 

“I know, bé.” He kisses Bitty’s thumb. “I’m scared. But if it means I don’t have to hide you…”

“If it means I don’t have to hide you,” Bitty agrees. 

“We’ll do it together,” Jack says, more confident than he was before. Holding Bitty’s eyes the same gentle-firm way he holds his body.

“Like we do everything else, sweetpea. Together.”

“Together,” Jack repeats one more time. Just for luck.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how any of this comes across because I was really just trying to write a bullet point fic about all the threes in Jack's life, and then my brain had different ideas. Jack's panic attack is set off by the text from Suzanne, not the press conference waiting. It is escalated by the thought of his well-crafted bubble with Eric being burst. Hope it was coherent!
> 
> Find me on tumblr were-all-a-team-together


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